


say my name and every colour illuminates

by bulletsandbutterflies (turningpages)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Soulmate Color AU, Work In Progress, but it's resolved in the end, scenes from books 1-7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningpages/pseuds/bulletsandbutterflies
Summary: The very first colour Draco saw wasgreen.Soulmate Colour AU where you see the world in black and white until you first lay eyes on your soulmate. It only takes Draco and Harry 8 years to realise they were made for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aForegoneConclusion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aForegoneConclusion/gifts).



> I don't think I've read a Soulmate Colour AU before for Drarry so I thought I'd write one! I'm aware that certain scenes are different when it comes to the books and the movies. To be consistent, I've chosen to stay more true to the books (because can we agree that they were so much better than the movies?). 
> 
> The rating is M for future chapters.
> 
> Title is taken from "Spectrum" by Florence + the Machine.

Draco feels the sharp sting of the jinx on his left arm just before he is shoved unceremoniously to the ground.

A year ago, he would have drawn his wand instinctively (living with a bunch of maniacal killers had done wonders for Draco’s flight-or-fight reflex). But Draco has been in this situation enough times now to know that it would be over faster if he keeps his head down and remains half-sprawled on the floor.

“Fucking Death Eater,” he hears the caster say, and he lets himself briefly wonder who it might be, who this person had lost. “You should be rotting in Azkaban with the rest of them.”

There is a pause, and Draco knows the boy is waiting for him to respond, waiting for a violent reaction from Draco that would justify his actions. When Draco proves to be a disappointment, the boy backhands him across his jaw and jerks his head back by his hair. Draco could not help the hiss of pain that escapes from his lips as the Ravenclaw (Draco notes the blue and bronze tie wrapped loosely around his neck - and Salazar, since when are Ravenclaws so violent?) presses his wand against Draco’s throat.

“They should let the Dementors have you,” he snarls, face twisted in a mask of anger and revulsion that Draco has seen on every witch and wizard who’s caught a glimpse of him since the war ended. He hears his Mother begging him not to go back to Hogwarts for his final year, and he’s starting to think that he should’ve listened to her. “Do you know why I’m here instead of back home with my parents for Christmas?”

Draco knows it's because they’re gone — that’s the main reason for students staying at Hogwarts during the winter break after the war. Draco himself had chosen to stay because he couldn’t bear the idea of being in the Manor, watching Father’s gaunt face and Mother’s red-rimmed eyes at dinner every night. But of course, the downside of staying is being hexed left and right by vengeful students when he’s walking alone in empty corridors. Draco has suffered five incidents already, and classes only finished three days ago.

“You and your Death Eaters friends killed them,” his assailant confirms, and tears spring in the corner of Draco’s eyes as his head is pulled back harder. “And you better watch your back becau-“

“Petrificus totalus!”

It takes Draco a split second (and a subtle wiggling of his toes) to realise that the spell wasn’t aimed at him. He watches the boy slump to the floor before turning around and realising in abject horror that the last person he wanted to see right now is rushing towards him.

“Are you okay?” Potter asks, dropping to his knees in front of Draco, green eyes bright with concern.

“I’m fine,” Draco says, and he pulls himself away from the intensity of Potter’s gaze. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Potter ignores him and takes hold of Draco’s chin to angle his face towards him again. Draco sincerely hopes Potter can’t detect the rapid rise of his heartbeat as he struggles to keep his breathing steady. “Merlin, Malfoy, your lip is bleeding.”

Potter’s fingers are making his skin tingle, and Draco needs to end this interaction right this second before he does something he regrets. “It’s nothing,” Draco snaps, swatting Potter’s hand away. “Mind your own business.”

Those words have the desired effect because Potter’s eyes narrow as he says, “I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help!” Draco sneers, and he has to ignore the dull ache in his chest he always feels whenever he instigates a fight with Potter. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? Always itching to be the hero, addicted to being everyone’s saviour.”

He expects Potter to storm away, maybe to even punch Draco in the face (Draco knows he probably deserves it). But to his utter amazement, Potter rocks back to a sitting position and crosses his legs.

“You’re right,” Potter says almost sheepishly, and Draco wonders if maybe he’s suffered a concussion and is now hallucinating this whole interaction. “After the war, I just thought—I wish I knew how to stop.”

Draco is so taken aback by this confession that he finds himself unable to say anything meaningful in return. Instead, he asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

Potter shrugs, a half smile dancing on his lips. “You brought it up.”

“I said it to spite you. I wasn’t expecting to be your therapist.”  
Potter barks out a laugh, and once again Draco is so startled by Potter’s reaction that he finds himself grinning back.

“Godric, you’re something else Malfoy,” Potter breathes out, and his voice is so low (and is that fondness Draco hears laced through his words?) that it's making Draco fidget restlessly where he’s sitting, suddenly aware of how close Potter is sitting next to him. Conscious of his need to put more space between them, Draco chooses to stand.

“You better deal with that Ravenclaw,” Draco points out as he brushes the dirt off his trousers gingerly. Beside him, Potter nods and does the same.

“Well, I’ll see you around then,” Potter says earnestly, and Salazar, Potter needs to stop surprising him because Draco is starting to think he’s going mad. At a loss for words, Draco nods curtly at Potter before he begins to walk to the library where he intends to find a quiet corner he can hide away at for the rest of the day.

“Wait, Malfoy!” Potter shouts after he’s almost reached the courtyard, and Draco turns to see Potter running towards him. “Let me mend that lip for you.”

And while his heart is pounding in his chest, he decides to act nonchalant and says, “Well, go ahead then.”

Potter looks exasperated for a second before crowding in too close into Draco’s personal space, staring right at Draco so that he can see the flecks of gold in Potter’s eyes (and oh, he has never noticed that detail before!). Despite himself, Draco cannot look away. “Episkey.”

Potter’s magic feels so warm around him, and Draco swallows to get rid of the tightness in his throat. He mumbles a quick thanks before practically running away.

***  
The very first colour Draco saw was _green_.

Of course, he didn’t know then and there that Harry Potter’s eyes were a brilliant hue of emerald, having only seen the world in shades of grey up until the moment he turned to see a skinny boy with the roundest glasses he’d ever stumbled across staring straight at him with eyes that were definitely not grey and-

Oh.

_Oh!_

Mother had told him years ago about the way the world would change the moment Draco locked eyes with his soulmate. He had spent countless nights awake wondering who it would be - secretly, of course, because Father would have only castigate him for this show of weakness. 

It had took every ounce of his willpower to maintain the cold facade that every Malfoy was expected to master, to not fling himself into the arms of the dark-haired boy.

So he he schooled his features and said, “Hello, Hogwarts too?”, whilst simultaneously feeling amazed at all the different colours he was seeing on his soulmate.

But if the boy experienced the same life-changing burst of colour that Draco did, he did not show it. Even Draco’s attempts at impressing him with not-so-subtle remarks about his family’s wealth, his Quidditch skills, and his blood status did not illicit the response Draco was expecting. Instead, the boy gave Draco unenthused replies, rushing out the shop the second Madam Malkin had finished measuring him - as if he could not bear Draco’s presence a second longer.

Draco didn’t even get the chance to ask for his name.

But Draco had brushed their first encounter aside, telling himself that his soulmate was just shocked to have met him so early on in their lives - they were only eleven after all. He decided to refrain from telling his parents until he could establish a better relationship with his soulmate. And since his soulmate was attending Hogwarts alongside him, they would have more than enough time to get to know each other.

When he found out that his soulmate was the Harry Potter, _the Chosen One_ , he had been more than ecstatic. He imagined how proud his parents would be when he finally told them, how envied he would be by others. He started imagining their time together at Hogwarts - playing countless games of Wizard's Chess in the common room (because of course, Harry Potter would be a Slytherin just like him), eating meals side by side at the Great Hall, winning the Quidditch cup together (Potter looked like he would be an excellent Keeper once he filled out a bit).

So he had sought his soulmate out on the Hogwarts Express - Crabbe and Goyle trailing dumbly behind him - and was horrified to find Potter occupying the same breathing space as a Weasley (Draco had deduced this from the red hair and freckles). At least, Draco had thought, he still had time to save his soulmate from a life of associating with the wrong kind. 

But when Potter rejected his offer of friendship - leaving Draco’s hand dangling like a used marionette, cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment - Draco realised that Potter wanted nothing to do with him, that Potter would rather live without his other half than have Draco as his soulmate.

That whole train ride, Draco had wondered what colour heartbreak would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of torture

Draco was half-afraid — and half-hopeful, although he would never admit to this out loud — that Potter would seek him out after saving him from that Ravenclaw. Whenever he caught the familiar sight of shaggy black hair, he would swiftly walk the other way. He even avoided public areas when he could, reverting back to his old habit of eating alone.

(At the beginning of the school year, Draco had spent every mealtime in his own private room (a small mercy bestowed to him by McGonagall, who was all too aware of the many enemies the Malfoys had accumulated from both sides during Voldemort's brief but brutal reign). But after a couple of weeks of sitting in oppressive silence, hearing only the clanking sound of his cutlery bashing against his plate and the angry droning of his thoughts, he had begun to feel slightly claustrophobic and decided to brave the crowd. He realised that after a while, ignoring the pointed glares of the other students became easier. Brushing off the burn of their disapproval, on the other hand, proved much more difficult.)

But after almost a week of not stumbling across Potter at all, Draco decided it was safe enough to risk a public appearance. So this morning, he slips into the Great Hall for breakfast, making sure he doesn’t draw any untoward attention by keeping his eyes glued to the floor and hunching his shoulders. He quickly takes his place in the corner of the Slytherin table, and his eyes flicker over to the Gryffindor table, unconsciously searching for Potter. But despite catching a glimpse of his obnoxious friends (at least, the few who have stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays) in their usual spot, including a very sleepy Longbottom, Potter is nowhere to be seen. Draco swallows his disappointment down with a drag of pumpkin juice...

...which he almost spits out when Potter slides into the bench across him with a cheerful, “Morning, Malfoy!”

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Draco hisses out when he’s managed to regain his composure to swallow the liquid down. He can already hear the low buzz of people conversing frantically to each other, no doubt picking this weird phenomenon apart, and Draco sees his plan of staying out of people’s radar flying out of the window along with the owls. 

“Having breakfast?” Potter replies with a tone that suggests Draco is being dense and starts loading his plate with a literal mountain of eggs and bacon. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Draco blinks, caught off-guard and finding himself at loss for words. But the whispers intensify, and this is enough to shake Draco from his stupor. “I meant, what are you doing sitting with me?!”

“Just felt like it,” Potter shrugs and proceeds to stuff his mouth full of food. Draco spares another second to stare at the scene bewilderedly before surveying the damage done. As he predicted, all eyes were trained on them. 

“I don’t think your friends are very happy with this seating arrangement,” Draco points out when he notices them glaring at him with such hatred that Draco is beginning to understand the Muggle phrase 'If looks could kill'.

Potter turns around and waves at them with a cheeky smile. Only Longbottom returns the gesture, if not hesitantly. “I’m sure they’ll live.”

“I’d really rather not get hexed again,” Draco admits. His cheeks flushes at the show of weakness, but the desperation to find a way to get rid of Potter esclipes his pride.

“Don’t worry, that shouldn’t happen again,” Potter says seriously, his eyes darkening with such intensity that Draco cannot hold his gaze. Draco had noticed a suspicious lack of spells being thrown at him since Potter rescued him, and he puzzles about what Potter had done to make this so. (Another part of him is ridiculously aroused at the thought that Potter has the power to stop countless of students from harassing him, but he stamps this feeling down _immediately_.)

He watches as Potter polishes his plate in record time, his mouth automatically twisting into a sneer as he says, “Honestly, Potter, you eat like someone’s going to snatch your food from you.”

Potter freezes, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He lowers it down slowly, and with an almost sheepish look, murmurs, “Sorry, I didn’t have much to eat growing up.”

“What do you mean?” Draco questions, brows furrowed with confusion. This was the last thing Draco expected to hear, especially after all the hours he had spent as a child imagining how privileged Potter’s childhood must’ve been (“He probably has a room full of Nimbus 2001s and people serving him hundreds of Chocolate Frogs with a ring of a bell, that privileged twat!” a twelve-year-old Draco had raged to Crabbe and Goyle). In hindsight, he might have been slightly hypocritical. 

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” Potter says, running his hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s nervous (Draco hates himself for noticing this characteristic over the years). Deciding to take pity on Potter, Draco nods stiffly, indicating that he’s willing to let go of the subject for now.

They eat in companionable silence - although Draco can’t help the suspicious glower he throws at Potter now and again - until Potter asks, “How’s your mother?”

“My mother is fi—” Draco falters as his brain finally processes Potter’s words. “Why are you asking about my mother?!”

“Can’t I just be interested in your mother’s well-being?” Potter counters with a grin. When Draco continues to stare him down, he chuckles. “If you really must know, I owe her my life. I thought about writing to her after things settled down, but I was afraid your father might see it. I don’t think he’s fond of me still.”

No, Father is definitely not fond of Potter at all. But Mother had never once mentioned Potter after the war ended. Then again, she had never said anything against him either, keeping silent whilst Father ranted and raved whenever he spots any allusion to Potter in the Prophet. He knew there was something she was keeping from him. He just never thought it was a secret involving the Boy-Who-Lived himself, and now he aches to know what it is.

“She’s not terribly happy,” Draco says truthfully, imagining the melancholy look that seems to be perpetually fixed on her face these days. “But she’s doing fine under the circumstances.”

“I’m glad,” Potter says, and Draco’s heart is definitely not beating faster at how genuine Potter sounds. “Next time you write to her, do you mind telling her I said hi?”

All the traces of warmth Draco was starting to feel from their conversation disappears instantaneously. Draco can handle having breakfast with Potter, can cope with the inevitable backlash that he will experience once Potter leaves and Draco is left alone to fend for himself. He can even live with the countless hours he would spend replaying this conversation in his head, feeling his heart splinter at the constant reminder that they could never be together. But Potter dragging Mother into this complicated mess is more than Draco could take. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Potter’s lips instantly curve into a frown (and Salazar, even now when he’s ready to strangle the boy Draco still wants to know what it would be like to kiss Potter until all he can think of is Draco). “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Potter!” Draco snarls, aware that all eyes are trained on them. But for once, he really couldn’t care less. “I know you’re up to something. Is this a dare from one of your pathetic friends? Or are you just bored and decided I would be fun to toy with?”

“You’re not making any sense—”

“You wouldn’t be doing all this if you didn’t have an end-game!”

“What am I doing exactly?” Potter asks quietly, but the fact that Potter is so calm just incenses Draco further.

“Helping me with that Ravenclaw, eating breakfast with me, wanting to send your regards to my mother!” An awful thought crosses Draco’s mind. “Is this pity? Because If this is, you can fuck right off! I don’t need your charity. Just leave me the fuck alone!”

Potter’s eyes narrow. “Maybe I just want to mend things—”

Draco barks out a wry laugh. “You expect me to believe that after everything I’ve done to you?” When Potter doesn’t say anything, Draco continues, “How about I list some of my atrocious deeds just in case you’ve forgotten? I pretended to be a Dementor just to scare the shit out of you during a Quidditch match. I helped Umbridge flush out your precious Dumbledore’s Army. I kicked you so hard that I broke your nose, even when you were lying defenseless on the ground. Oh, and I served a blood-thirsty, power-hungry maniac who was hell-bent on killing you. Why would you want to mend things with _me_?”

“Why didn’t you tell them it was me?”

Potter doesn’t elaborate, but Draco knows exactly what he’s referring to. His heart stops, and his anger melts away to fear.

Because this is exactly why Draco was half-afraid to encounter Potter again. He knows that if Potter digs deep enough, he might uncover feelings that Draco has so meticulously buried away under numerous layers of hatred and envy.

Unable to think of a convincing lie on the spot, Draco finds himself fleeing from Potter for the second time that week.

***

After Voldemort decided that the Manor would be his base of operations, Draco started to feel relief whenever he was at Hogwarts. Even with Snape and the Carrows monitoring his every move, Draco could still pretend — albeit, with little success — that he was just another student, that his arm was free of the Dark Mark (and Salazar, he remembered the time he was so proud to be branded as one of them, how he used to long to be called a Death Eater). And while the other Slytherins flocked to him like he was their Messiah, Draco was becoming more and more disillusioned with the choices he made. He had always thought himself capable of inflicting pain on others. But after torturing Rowle under the Dark Lord’s orders, resulting in him spilling the contents of his stomach the moment he had some time alone and being plagued with constant nightmares for three straight weeks, Draco realised that while he was capable of doing so, he did not enjoy it the way the other Death Eaters did.

So when Mother asked him to return for the Easter holidays, Draco wished he had the strength to say no. He knew that at the Manor he would have to face the worst of the worst: Greyback, Aunt Bella, and possibly the Dark Lord himself. But he could never refuse Mother anything, and so he had gone home. 

Not that he considered the Manor home anymore, infested as it was with Death Eaters who were obsessed with their sick desires to hurt, maim and kill. His only respite was that the Dark Lord was not around. The agonised cries that drifted from the cellar were always quieter whenever he was gone.

Draco had spent most of the holiday trying to ignore the tortured screams of Muggles and Muggle-born wizards that were abducted for the sole purpose of entertaining the Death Eaters - to be cut open, beaten, and healed, only for the process to start over and over again until they were begging for death. He still spent most of the nights lying awake, trembling with guilt and disgust.

The last thing he expected was for Mother to walk into the drawing room with Weasley and Granger being dragged in after her, both looking disheveled and terrified, along with a figure who was barely recognisable due to a spell that distorted his every feature.

“They say they’ve found Potter,” Mother said coldly, beckoning him to come closer with an outstretched hand. As Draco took a step closer to her, Draco had ascertained that they wanted him to confirm the prisoner’s identity. He had to stamp down the growing nausea that threatened to overtake him.

“Well, Draco?” Father said, slinking away from his seat to stand behind Draco. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

Draco knew it must be him, even if the boy didn’t look a bit like Potter. The Golden Trio was practically inseparable; Weasley and Granger wouldn't be with anyone else. But he found he couldn’t utter the truth, not when he understood what it would mean if he did so. Not when he knew who Potter was to him.

“I can’t—I can’t be sure,” he stammered and hated how he happy he felt to see the tautness of Potter’s shoulder relax a fraction.

"But look at him carefully!" Father said impatiently with a disapproving glower. When Draco stayed rooted in place, he pleaded, "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—”

Greyback growled something then, but Draco had blocked the subsequent sounds of Father arguing with the fiend to study the maybe-Potter instead. Traitorously, he allowed himself to wonder if Potter was okay.

"Draco, come here, look properly!” Father urged him again, almost desperately now, and Draco couldn’t bear to disobey him any further. He walked up to the disputed figure, who hadn’t uttered a single word since he was brought in. When he was close enough, Draco knelt and forced himself to look.

The prisoner’s jet black hair was longer than Draco had ever seen Potter wear his, the strands curling past the boy’s shoulder. But when Draco caught the flash of green through the slits of his eyes, Draco had no doubt that he was looking at Harry Potter. He would recognise that colour anywhere.

“What do you think?” Father implored beseechingly, his voice dripping with such unabashed enthusiasm at the prospect of once again being in the Dark Lord’s good graces that it left Draco enraged. 

Because Draco knew that no matter what they did, Voldemort would still look down on them, would still treat Father like the simpering coward he is. He had realised that if they won the War that his family would forever live in fear of angering the Dark Lord. That he would have to live in a colourless world because Potter would be gone, but that it wouldn’t matter anyway because the world would always be bleak and grey.

He had made his choice then.

"I don't know," he said before retreating back to the fireplace, where Mother was studying him intently. He had spared a moment to worry about whether she could read him like a book, but they were swiftly interrupted by Aunt Bella’s presence.

When, much later, Potter seized the wands from Draco’s hands, Draco swore he saw Potter hesitate when he saw the injuries Draco sustained from the broken chandelier, his face set with determination but clouded with an emotion Draco could not decipher.

And when Potter Disapparated away, Draco had wished that he would have taken Draco with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's subscribed/bookmarked/commented/kudos-ed the work <3 I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long to update, but I've been going through a lot of changes in my life at the moment. Please bear with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


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